Chapter 155
Chapter 155
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 155
Chapter Title: Chapter 10 Lead and Silver Coins (9)
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****
Fortunately.
It passed without any major bloodshed.
“G-God, I was just nervous! Really! I had no intention of hurting anyone!”
“Shut your trap, you little punk!”
“Ow!”
Ah, except for that guy. He’s the initial reporter, but apparently his condition wasn’t great even normally, so the station officer ordered him to just take aim after hearing the report.
So I figured there must be some misunderstanding and rushed out to explain—
Bang—!
Crack!
A bullet from someone ricocheted off the truck’s bulletproof glass. Before I could even intervene, Vex was already prepping return fire, and if I hadn’t deflected his barrel, dozens would’ve died right here for sure.
It took thirty minutes from the station officer dragging out the soldier who fired to explanations, identity confirmations, and realizing the whole thing had started off on the wrong foot. Only then could we finally enter and meet the officer in charge of Station 42-a.
“Officer! It’s true! I had no intention of firing! My hands were sweaty, I sweat a lot—mmph—mph!”
“Shut his mouth! Drag him to the warehouse for interrogation. He could be a Raptor spy!”
“Mmph! Mmmph!!!”
.
.
.
.
A soldier flailing desperately, and other soldiers binding and dragging him away.
“...You’ve been through a lot.”
Watching the soldier, now a bloody mess, being hauled to a dim warehouse reminded me of old times. Ah, rookies. Morons. Even his report was a rambling mess about some infected Terran or whatever, and now accidental discharge. The commander’s nightmare of a soldier.
Instead of cursing him out—which he deserved—I offered words of comfort, and a sigh escaped the officer, heavy enough to splinter a wooden table.
“I’m ashamed. With recent personnel changes, we’ve got trash like that at the outer stations where our most veteran troops should be... Far from treating you guests properly, we’ve subjected you to this disgrace. My deepest regrets. Better late than never, but welcome to Station 42-a.”
“Ha! Welcome, my ass. First time in my life I’ve had fireworks aimed straight at me like a sniper shot.”
Unfortunately, Ezel was still fuming, unlike me. In fact, the other three were all still seething. Vex was raging that he’d forgive it if they brought him the shooter’s eyeball, and Ian was muttering crap like “I’m not the type to re-pin a safety I’ve already pulled,” looking ready to go full Rambo, so I quickly paired him off with the station’s supply officer to smother his wrath with supplies.
Of course, this intense reaction was something I’d prompted the crew to put on after spotting the lack of follow-up shots when the first bullet hit, the panicked faces of the soldiers, and the ashen commander.
‘Good cop, bad cop. Carrot and stick. The most basic, textbook, foolproof strategy!’
[One carrot and three sticks? Aren’t you overdoing the reputation?]
‘That’s why I, the boss, am playing the carrot.’
Vex sat by the armored truck where station grunts were diligently washing and maintaining it, muttering creepy shit about eyeballs and tongues.
Ian’s booming curses echoed from the distant supply depot.
And facing the station officer—the real commander here—were the gold badge [Authorized for department head privileges in all Dome facilities] Professor, and silver badge [Veteran Audit Division agent] Ezel.
I hadn’t planned to squeeze this tight originally, but with water and rations running low on the way, and supply consumption way beyond expectations, I couldn’t pass up the golden opportunity of an “accidental discharge” falling right into our laps. Hell, I was just trying to quietly withdraw my cash from the ATM, but the guy in front drops his card—with his balance and PIN scribbled on a note? How do you hold back?
At first, I worried Ezel wouldn’t join in this “Dome fleecing,” but after the hellish journey here, he’d changed his mind and was grilling the officer aggressively—impossible to tell if it was acting or real.
Honestly, Ezel had suffered the most out of the four of us. He knew how much worse this hell would get without supplies, and his pressure on the officer carried desperation beyond sincerity.
Personally, I was proud of how splendidly he’d “corrupted” in the right direction.
“Misfire... Officer. Can you take responsibility for that word? Even if this outer station is a bit remote from the city, someone of your rank should know the Dome’s current situation well. Do you not grasp the weight of the title ‘station officer’? Station—officer. The manager overseeing the entire station! Every soldier here is under your responsibility! Even a soldier’s minor mistake could be seen as your intent!”
Bang!
Ezel, perfectly embodying the “Audit Division,” slammed the desk, pressing the fidgeting officer harder.
“In this situation with Raptor guerrilla units rampaging. Aiming at Professor, who’s carrying out the Chief Director’s secret orders? Officer. Do you have grievances with Dome policy? Deep regrets over the Chief Director abolishing the three-branch separation and adopting a directorate term system?”
“N-No! Sniper shot? It’s a ridiculous misunderstanding—”
“That ridiculous event happened in reality! So that cracked bulletproof glass on our armored truck is just my imagination?”
Thud!
Ezel rose, eyes blazing, slamming the desk again. He’d been jabbing my thigh earlier, signaling “How long do we keep this up?” so my left hand blocked his, foiling the strike.
From misfire to a coup plot against the newly inaugurated pinnacle of power, the Chief Director. We’d fleeced him dry, so now a gentle pat and casual questions would have answers popping out like an auto-responder.
“Ease up. That’s just commander woes, right? Hmm? Ezel.”
“But Deputy Director, it wasn’t just a misfire—it was a aimed shot into the windshield! There had to be intent...”
“Now, now! No one’s hurt, so let’s drop it. I’ll handle the rest with the officer, so go check on supplies. That’s an order.”
“...”
Ezel silently stood, bowed his head, and briskly exited the office.
In good cop/bad cop roleplay, the yelling bad cop has to leave the scene. The victim won’t open up honestly otherwise.
Plus, no one’s as stubborn as supply managers across all units, so pairing Dome high-up Ezel with Ian would help a ton.
‘Alright. Time to carve up this well-done medium-rare station officer?’
I flashed a soft smile at the officer, who’d plummeted from station officer to treason suspect.
“...Please understand. As I said, the Dome’s had major battles recently, Raptor cyborg troops pulling terror attacks, so Audit Division nerves are razor-sharp. That cyborg procedure itself is old-era tech stolen from the Executive Branch research labs by Raptors, so they’re hot on rooting out hostile spies.”
“I-I understand! Completely!”
The officer turned total yes-man. Good reaction. Pull a bit more?
“How long have you been here?”
“About a year since my predecessor died...”
“Family?”
“Wife and two kids in District 47 Dome...”
“Upper Dome, Main Street, 8th Avenue?”
“Gasp! How did you...!”
[Of course—command-grade officers get subsidized military lease housing there, you idiot.]
To come to this remote station, he’s no rich elite pureblood. No way a year’s pay buys a real mansion, so obviously crashing in the military lease I used to have.
Point is, give off vibes of “I know everything, just confirming in case.” Plus, we’d planted spy paranoia via Ezel, so even on sensitive stuff—secrets or personal dirt—a hesitant pause lets us pounce:
‘Not answering? Hiding something? Got a will? Like torture? Wanna tour Audit Division basement?’
Of course, seeing his collar damp with cold sweat, no need to go there.
To him, I beamed.
“Hahaha. No need to stiffen up. Just light background check. We don’t ask much of you. Just minor material aid for our mission and info on recent station happenings. That’s plenty.”
“Supplies... and information?”
“Yes. Enough to prove your loyalty to the Dome.”
Ssshh!
Crash!
At “loyalty,” the officer paled, shot up like a fresh recruit, hand on chest in rigid salute.
“I’ll prepare without a single omission! Just give me a moment!”
“...We’ll watch.”
Leaning back casually, Professor’s reply sent the officer bulleting out. Professor finally burst into held-back laughter.
Exactly ninety minutes later.
After leisurely showering with three allocated water buckets (enormous luxury here near irradiated zones, where deep groundwater rationing kicks in), changing into fresh issued clothes with the crew, and stuffing ourselves on oddly classy grub till we patted full bellies—
Click! Click! Click! Click!—whoosh!
“Report! Station 42-a, current status briefing ready!”
The officer and his staff marched in precisely from afar, snapping Dome-style chest-hand salutes. Minus the dusty uniforms, they could pass for Chief Director’s honor guard—polished moves.
“If you need more rest, we can wait—”
“Nah, we’re good. Time to work.”
“This way, then.”
Following the officer leisurely, we four entered the large barracks.
“Oh.”
Walls plastered with ops maps and photos.
Soldiers bustling, handing thick file binders to our seats.
And the highlight...
“This... in ninety minutes?”
“Hearing you and Ezel, I realized I’d gone soft in wartime. Prepared like it’s battle.”
“Data aside, where’d this gear come from...”
“District 30 still has old-era stuff, and non-survival machines are easier to source.”
In that short time, he’d cleared the barracks for a conference room. Centerpiece: a holographic projector on the round table, the 3D screens we saw in the Great War.
“Commencing report.”
Whirr—
[Station 42-a Second Half Status Report] bold text lit the 3D screen. Baton out, the officer began confidently.
****
“That concludes... the report.”
The passionate, all-out briefing ended.
We couldn’t help clapping for the officer, who’d burned himself white delivering it.
Summarizing all those combat logs, pulling footage and other station sightings in that time...
“I’m... truly relieved you’re satisfied...”
Eyes welling at my awe—something welled up in him. Traitor combo + family threat was overkill. What thoughts drove that middle-aged man digging dusty archives?
“Ahem. To think you’re this capable and diligent. Needs re-evaluation. I’ll put in a good word, so rest up.”
“No, I’d like feedback after your review...”
“Need to think, so go quietly. Everyone else too. Good work—now scram. We’ve got private talk.”
Only after my firm words did the officer and staff shuffle out of the temp conference room. We finally exhaled.
“Phew! Acting tough is exhausting.”
“Felt the wasteland top dogs’ power. A fringe station officer this competent? Supplies guy held like ‘step on my corpse.’ Domes aren’t average.”
“Professor. What’d you tell him to make him so desperate?”
Vex and Ian tongue-clicking, Ezel slyly distancing.
“Hey, good results mean it’s all good, right?”
Professor grabbed the left baton, powering the holo-unit again.
Hum and noise, then a stark 3D dissect of a Raptor cyborg trooper.
Augments, additions, removals. Contrasted with Executive research team’s cyborg tech, footprints matching traces around District 42.
A masterpiece summary mobilizing every scrap of local data—I couldn’t stop marveling.
“Gonna ask the Chief Director to promote that officer later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Waste to rot talent out here.”
Ezel nodded vigorously beside Professor. A map overlay floated, patterning countless traces.
Not certain, but felt like grasping the fog-shrouded thread of this mission.
****
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